


Learning to Hate You (Myself?) as a Self Defense Mechanism

by binary_hazard



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Majin Buu Saga
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-19 14:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binary_hazard/pseuds/binary_hazard
Summary: Trunks hated Trunks.Well, not himself, but theotherTrunks. The one that was a solid foot and five inches taller than him and donned a stupid denim bolero jacket with the capsule corporation logo emblazoned on his left sleeve. The one that literally materialised out of thin air in his backyard last week with no explanation as to how or why he was there. That Trunks.Hehatedhim.Or, instead of Trunks embracing Future Trunks like a brother in Super, he hates him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I binge read all of DB and this has haunted me ever since.
> 
> Do not let the summary confuse you, this does not take place during Super, but a short time after the Majin Buu arc. As this is in Present Trunks' POV, I tried to not refer to Future Trunks by name, so apologies if it effects ruin the flow of the text.

Trunks hated Trunks.

Well, not himself, but the _other_ Trunks. The one who was a solid foot and five inches taller than him and wore that stupid denim bolero jacket with the capsule corporation logo emblazoned on his left sleeve. The one who literally materialised out of thin air in his backyard last week with no explanation as to how or why he was there. That Trunks.

He _hated_ him.

From the guy's shy little smiles to his annoyingly polite way of speaking, Trunks utterly despised him. His double's personality was the antithesis of his own, amplifying all the traits Trunks himself either lacked entirely or was unable to express. How the hell was he supposed to be him from the future? The two of them far too different to be the same person, and Trunks refused to believe that _he_ was who he was going to turn into come his teenage years.

Everyone else was glad to see older boy back, but not him. Trunks didn't understand why they were all so happy to see him. What was so special about him? Sure, he helped his father put an end to Cell's reign and took out the androids back in the day, but what was that compared to when he helped defeat Majin Buu? Majin Buu, who killed everyone he ever loved, even his father, in under three days. Compared to the genie, that little cockroach was nothing less than a bad dream. Trunks was obviously the more powerful saiyan of the two, and he deserved to be commended for it just as much, if not more than him.

So why wasn't he getting the amount of admiration his future self was?

His mother acted like he damn near hung the moon, constantly commenting on what a lovely young man he was and singing his praises whenever the opportunity arose. She even seemed to favour his double over him, her _actual_ son. Trunks saw how she grabbed his shoulder or elbow and gave it an affectionate squeeze whenever she passed him and how she made extra time for him on her busy schedule when he was off sulking in his room, which was more often than not. She took time off her job to tend to his mood swings, but would delegate responsibility to Grandma Panchy when he was sick. What about him? She was acting like the older saiyan was his son when he _wasn't_. 

Even his father, who was easily the hardest person to please in the whole universe, took on an odd expression whenever he laid eyes on the doppelganger. Trunks wouldn't have noticed due to how minuscule the reaction was if he wasn't the man's son, but he was, therefore he did. He saw how the almost constant furrow between his brows loosened by the slightest of fractions and the way his dark eyes lost their coldness. Trunks could see that his father held genuine affection for his future self and it made his blood boil beneath his skin. 

Vegeta rarely looked at him like that, even less so ever since he came to live with them. Vegeta was _his_ father; the double could go get his own if he wanted one so badly he'd resort to stealing his.

Trunks was fed up. He was sick of his friends and family treating him as second best. Sick of Goten trying to include his future self in their games because the younger boy thought he was cool. Sick of his dad blowing him off so he could go shadowbox with his double instead because, as Vegeta had stated so kindly, _“he actually poses a challenge"_. Sick of his mom suggesting he spend more time with him in the hope that his mannerisms would rub off onto him and that he, too, would grow to become a kind young man. He was sick of being forced into his shadow.

He decided that enough was enough after hearing his mother prattle on about her son finally being where he belonged over dinner that night. Her _son_. Since when was anyone else but himself her son? As far as he was concerned, he was the only child of Bulma Briefs and Vegeta, and he would maintain that to the very day he died. The older saiyan didn't belong in the same timeline as him, let alone be a part of it. There wasn't enough room for two Trunks Briefs, and he refused to be the one being replaced.

He wouldn't let him replace him.

\---

Trunks found his doppelganger laying supine on the pedicured grass in the shade one of the elm trees outside at around noon the next day. 

As he approached the older boy, he noticed his blue eyes crack open almost immediately to size him up and the way he reflexively went to grab the hilt of his broadsword. The latter action was particularly funny to Trunks seeing as though the sword in question was nowhere in sight. The flush on the other saiyan's face when he realised his blunder was almost as satisfying as what he had planned.

“Oi, you," Trunks spat. “Fight me."

His double sat up faster than he could finish his sentence, his jaw slack and eyebrows knitted into a confused frown. “Excuse me?"

“You heard me. Now get up off your ass and fight me."

“Why?"

“To determine who the better Trunks is!" He exclaimed, deciding that that was all the explanation he deserved before he settled into a fighting stance.

“I'm not fighting you," the older saiyan stated calmly. “Not over something so childish."

Trunks' face screwed up into an indignant scowl, lip curling up from his bared teeth in a feral sneer and icy blue eyes narrowing. “You're just scared you're going to get beaten by an eight-year-old, aren't you?"

“Think what you want, Trunks," he replied coolly, utterly nonchalant in the face of the young boy's rage. “At least I'm not the one picking fights with himself."

Trunks felt a hot rash burn across his cheeks, frustrated and angry that the other wasn't only not complying to his plan, but was being a sarcastic asshole to boot. “What sort of saiyan are you?" He screamed hotly. “If you won't fight, then what use are you to us?"

That seemed to hit a nerve, if the expression on the older saiyan's face was anything to go by. His glare was on par with Vegeta's, and Trunks wasn't sure if he should be impressed, terrified, or jealous. “I'm not a weapon, nor am I your toy."

The younger boy felt a chill travel down his spine at the tone in his future self's voice, which had become cold and emotionless so suddenly that Trunks almost got whiplash. He started trembling despite himself when the other rose to his full height and his lips pulled into a smirk reminiscent of his father's, but he convinced himself that it was just the adrenaline and not because he was scared. Because he wasn't.

“But fine, I'll play ball," the older saiyan added. “But only because you need to be knocked down a peg."

Trunks was utterly baffled. “The fuck you say?"

“I can't imagine myself being so arrogant and self-absorbed if my timeline was as peaceful as yours during my childhood, but here you are, proving that I not only would I have become a spoilt little brat, but I would've taken everything I had for granted, too," he explained. “It makes me kind of thankful that my timeline was the one to become the post-apocalyptic wasteland. Who knew I'd have to lose everyone I ever loved to gain some gratitude."

The younger boy's face only grew hotter at the allegation as tiny hands curled into trembling fists, his knuckles white from how hard he was tensing. “I'll kill you," he ground out through gritted teeth, feeling his rage build up in his belly like a roaring fire being doused in fuel.

“I'm ashamed for the both of us, seeing as you lack any sort of ability to feel it," the older saiyan continued, eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. “I'm also a little disappointed that you turned out like this."

“I'll kill you!" Trunks repeated, eyes alight with unadulterated fury. He let out a short yell, releasing all his pent-up anger in the form of a one powerful blast of ki as he ascended into his super saiyan state. Not able to wait a moment longer to exact his revenge, he lunged at the boy before him with another scream.

He pulled his fist back behind his head and went to slam it in his future self's smug face, but the latter easily caught it with his right hand and pulled him forwards before dealing an open palm strike against Trunks' solar plexus. The shorter of the two was instantly winded by the attack, eyes bugging out of his head as all the air in his lungs was forcefully taken from them. The yellow aura around him flickered weakly as he wheezed painfully, his disorientation making it hard to maintain in his form.

The older boy threw him to the ground before he could gather his bearings, his head slamming painfully against the earth and sending him into another spell of confusion. Trunks felt like he was about to vomit, but he forced himself back onto his feet and shot his rival a withering glare. Said rival didn't look the least bit phased and deepened his stance, raising his hands in front of his face and widening his feet.

“Come," was all he said, his voice oddly level.

Trunks didn't need to be told twice.

He leaped at his double once again, this time leading with his left foot in a flying side kick. The taller saiyan caught his attack head on, his hands wrapping around his ankle before spinning him around and throwing him at the elm tree he'd been laying beneath prior to the fight. Trunks collided with the thick trunk with a dull thud, eliciting a sharp yelp from him before he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap of limbs. The younger boy growled low in his throat and struggled to his feet once more, gasping for the breath he hadn't quite caught yet. Trunks could feel his energy leaving him, but his anger had not abated. It was that burning, unyielding ball of hate inside him that propelled him towards the other saiyan despite the fact that he was barely hanging onto his ascended state.

He clasped his hands together and raised them above his head, readying himself to slam in down on the other saiyan's head when the latter quickly grabbed him by the waist and forced him downward onto his bent knee. A silent scream tore through Trunks' throat, eyes watering as he felt something break in his chest.

The doppelganger threw him to the floor and Trunks let out a pathetic little whimper as he lost hold on his super saiyan form. He curled up into a foetal position, arms cradling his aching abdomen while his knees came up to his chin. To his shame, he started to cry.

How could he lose to him? Trunks was so sure that the older boy was weaker than himself, so how did he win against him, let alone in his base state? How could he have miscalculated so horribly? He was supposed to win and teach him who was boss, he was supposed to come out victorious to prove that he was the better Trunks. He was supposed to be the better Trunks.

“I was supposed to be the better Trunks,” he repeated aloud, voice thick with tears.

He could hear his doppelganger moving to crouch beside him and, suddenly feeling a deep shame settle in the pit of his stomach, turned away to hide his face in the grass. 

“I'm so sorry," he spluttered, his voice high with panic. “I didn't mean to-"

“Go away!" Trunks cried out, sounding far younger than his years. He could feel a warm, almost burning, blush form across his tear streaked face, quickly spreading to the back of his neck and ears like a disease. “You win! You're the better Trunks! Just- just leave me alone already!"

He could feel the older boy's eyes boring into the side of his head, but he tried to ignore it. He had to try to retain some sort of dignity despite the situation he'd found himself in.

“I'm sorry," he repeated.

And with that, his future self was standing up and leaving Trunks to wallow in his self-pity under the shade of the elm tree. The younger boy could hear the other pause his hurried stride a few feet away, probably to get one last look at the sorry excuse for a saiyan crying in the dirt, before continuing to power walk towards the main building.

Once he was sure his double was out of earshot, he let out a loud, hiccuping sob. Shocked by the volume of it, Trunks moved his hands to stifle the sound lest his father hear it. He was mortified when he realised he could literally feel the hot blush on his cheeks. The pang in his stomach increased.

He was beyond humiliated. And, for the first time in his life, he was utterly ashamed of himself.

He decided he didn't the feeling. Not one bit.

Trunks was going to pay for this.

\---

The day after Trunks' older self reared his ugly head and force himself into their lives, his mother had pulled him aside after breakfast and distinctly told him that under no circumstances was he allowed to invite Gohan over. She hadn't told him why, but she did tell him that she wanted to limit her future son's exposure to the other saiyan as much as she possibly could until he was more emotionally stable. He'd just assumed that it meant something bad if the two should ever meet.

He was going to find out in approximately five minutes for himself why his mother wanted to distance the two. 

Despite her forbidding the act, Trunks had invited both Gohan and Goten to come over and train with him in Gravity Room while his father was out training with Goku. Not only was Vegeta not there to discipline him in place of his mother if he was to be caught, but his mother wasn't home either. Sure, Grandma Panchy was home, but her idea of scolding was giving him a light slap on the back of the hand and then making him a platter of sweets as an apology. So, he pretty much had the whole house to himself.

It was the perfect window of opportunity to have Gohan come over and do whatever is mom dreaded to the doppelganger. Maybe Gohan and him had bad blood between them after the whole Cell debacle, or perhaps they were like his father and Goku in the sense that every time there were together, they either brought harm to someone, something or each other. Trunks could feel the other saiyan's ki in his room down the corridor, the norm when no one was home, and the Sons were sure to arrive at any minute now.

His plan was coming together at last. 

He hoped his mother hadn't exaggerated the whole not letting Gohan into Capsule Corp., because that'd really throw a wrench in his revenge shtick if it turned out that they just had a minor dislike of one another that wouldn't even result in a fight. If it was a bad as she'd described, his double would finally get what was coming to him and, if Trunks wished hard enough, he might even hop right back into his time machine and disappear out of his life forever.

He sighed, imagining his older self fleeing to his little aircraft, crying all the while and cursing him for his cunningness. He was knocked out of his daydream by the shrill door bell. He grinned devilishly to himself before racing towards the door, making sure to take his socks off beforehand to create the loudest footfalls he possibly could against the tile floor to draw his doppelganger out of hiding. 

Trunks flung the door open with a triumphant smirk. “Took you two long enough," he snarked, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the two. 

“Sorry, turns out nimbus isn't as fast as we though in high winds," Gohan replied, scratching his cheek sheepishly. Goten nodded enthusiastically in agreeance before pushing past his best friend and running into the open kitchen area, obviously starved if his wails of anguish were a hint. Gohan laughed at his younger brothers' antics and followed him inside.

The two had already seated themselves at the breakfast bar by the time Trunks caught up to them. Goten had somehow gathered a rather high pile of snacks from both the pantry and fridge before he could even step foot in the kitchen area. 

With still no sign of his double skulking about, Trunks trailed after the two Sons and as he was walking past the mouth of the corridor, exclaimed as loudly as he was able without raising any flags, “Hey, Gohan, I didn't know you still owned that gi!"

The elder Son looked down at his orange uniform and smiled. “I felt a little nostalgic today for some reason, so I pulled this little number out and here we are! Bonus, Goten and I match.”

“Yeah, me n' Gohan are a team!" the youngest Son yelled jovially. “We're gonna win!"

“You can't win training, doofus," Trunks replied hotly after clambering onto the tall stool beside his best friend, turning his nose up at the younger boy and huffing snobbishly. A wicked smile broke out across his face when he felt the ki that'd been idle for the last few hours finally move. His future self was coming closer with each second and he could literally taste the sweetness of his revenge on his tongue. 

Trunks could barely keep a straight face as he spun around on his seat to look down the corridor intently, waiting on the literal edge of his seat for his double to appear. 

He heard him before he saw him, his soft footfalls almost inaudible beneath the din of the Sons. Trunks was too focused on sensing his older self's presence to decipher what they were carrying on about, but Goten was moaning inappropriately around whatever it was he was gorging himself on while Gohan chuckled warmheartedly. If he tuned the two brothers out, he could even hear the other saiyan breathing.

“Hey, Trunks, what're you looking at?" Gohan asked, his voice alight with laughter and stifled giggles. Goten must've be making a giant fool of himself to be able to distract his brother so much that he couldn't sense Trunks' doppelganger mere feet away. The boy almost burst out laughing himself at the uncannily perfect execution of his plan.

Trunks chose not to reply, instead he watched as the older saiyan finally emerged from the corridor, oblivious to what he'd just walked into. 

“Holy shit, Trunks!" Gohan yelled, his face lighting up like a New Year's Eve fireworks display as he ran over towards the startled boy. He looked so happy to see Trunks' double that the kid almost felt bad for roping him into his epic plan for revenge, but that was quickly forgotten when he saw the other saiyan's reaction.

Gohan was already about two feet away when the guy finally realised who it was that was approaching him and god, if this wasn't the most satisfying thing Trunks had ever witnessed, nothing was. His mouth worked uselessly, opening and closing like a dying fish's, as his blue eyes grew impossibly wide with shock. He looked like he was about to be sick, his face quickly taking on an ashen tone at the sight of the older Son.

“Trunks?" Gohan asked worriedly. “Are you alright?" 

He did not reply. Instead, he flinched so violently it looked like it physically pained him before stumbling backwards into the wall behind him. His lips quivered and his mouth twisted around the words his tongue seemed incapable of forming, but when he finally managed to force something out, it was a soft, almost inaudible, “Gohan?"

The boy in question smiled broadly at the other saiyan and went to grab his shoulder to give the shaken boy an affectionate squeeze like Trunks' mother was prone to do. Unlike the interactions between his mom and his double, the latter a weird little whimpering noise low in his throat and recoiled away from Gohan's left hand before it'd even touched him. His face became a brilliant shade of red the second he realised what he'd done and immediately stuttered out a slew of apologies, his eyes looking suspiciously damp as he averted his gaze from the oldest Son's. He lowered his head when Gohan uttered out his name again, his purple bangs obscuring his flushed face from the older sayian's scrutiny. Despite this, Trunks could still see the way his face contorted in pain and the tears building up in his eyes before rolling down his crimson-stained cheeks. 

Trunks wondered briefly if that was what he looked like when he'd been crying after his and his future self's fight. If he looked so broken and small curled up in the grass like a whimpering cur. He let a small smile settle onto his lips, contented. He'd done it.

“I'm so sorry," his double choked out, his voice coming out strained and weak, cracking minutely at the end as a harsh sob ripped through his chest. His hands shot up to stifle the pitiful sound but they'd all heard it, how his breath caught in his throat and the way he wheezed like the air had been punched out of his lungs. 

Before anyone could say anything else, the older saiyan ran back to his room without another word. Trunks shot a mischievous grin at the retreating boy just as he was entering the mouth of the corridor and when their eyes locked, the younger of the two had to force himself not to look away. The amount of pain those eyes, so alike his own, held was almost dizzying. A familiar weight settled in his stomach, but he willed it away. The doppelganger deserved it, and he refused to feel guilt over putting him in his place. So why did the feeling persist? 

The oldest Son was so taken aback by the events he ended up staring down the hallway for a solid minute, utterly deaf to Goten's confused babbling. Trunks could see that Gohan was seconds away from chasing after the other boy from the way his feet shifted loudly against the tile floor and how the tendons in his hands twitched as if to reach out for him. Surprisingly, Gohan did not follow him.

“How long has he been back for?" He asked instead, voice becoming uncharacteristically weak. It was becoming increasingly hard to ignore the pang in his stomach and dull ache in his chest. He refused to acknowledge that Gohan's misery was in any part his fault. Gohan really couldn't be that upset, could he? That wimp couldn't possibly mean that much to him, right?

“A week," he replied with faux nonchalance. He cursed himself for the tremor in his tone.

Gohan's shoulders slumped. “I see."

Seeing oldest Son, who Trunks knew to be a kindhearted and strong-willed individual, look so defeated was something of a phenomenon. He'd never seen him so downtrodden, nor had he ever heard his voice ever take on such a hollow tone. 

Trunks had always thought that Gohan was incapable of feeling any sort of negative emotion. He knew, rationally, everyone experienced sadness every once and a while, but Gohan, like his father Goku, came off as one of those one-dimensional characters in his manga only capable of warm laughter and boundless joy. Trunks had always believed the older saiyan to be unable to feel them, but now, seeing his dull black eyes, eyes usually so full of warmth, and his mouth twist into a watery smile, maybe Trunks'd just been unable to see Gohan. Maybe he was blind to it, or maybe he just refused to believe it, but he knew now, as stupid as it sounded in hindsight, that even someone as cheerful as Gohan was fully capable of expressing sorrow. That he was just as much as a person as he was.

In light of his revelation, a horrible thought struck him.

What about his doppelganger?

“Thanks for inviting us over, Trunks, but I think we'll be leaving now," Gohan said, knocking Trunks out of what felt like an hour-long epiphany. His voice, while no longer strained, was still empty.

He blinked owlishly, frowned in confusion, and then replied with an eloquent, “Huh?"

“We're going home now," the older saiyan repeated. Trunks thought he'd misheard for a second there because he'd never known Gohan to say something so frankly in his whole life. It was like hearing his dad say he was sorry. It was just so unlike him. It felt _wrong_. “Thank you for having us."

“Oh," was all he was able to say, dumbfounded. He watched numbly as Gohan, as silent as a ghost, slipped into the foyer and out of the front door. Goten followed closely after him, albeit far louder than his older brother and asking why they had to leave.

Once again, Trunks was all alone in the Briefs household, but he was left feeling far heavier than he had before the Sons had arrived. He exacted the revenge he'd fantasied about for days, the one he thought he deserved, but there he was, feeling so confused he didn't know right from wrong.

He'd done right by himself, hadn't he?

The ki in the room at the end of the corridor, thrumming, pulsating, _aching_ , caused him to doubt himself.


End file.
